The Written (30 page)

His fingers moved up and down,
gently at first, and then faster, sliding in and out of her until
at long last finally couldn’t take any more. Cheska wrapped her
legs around him and took him in her hands, drawing him ever closer,
pulling, until they were one and the same. Farden held her hands
above her head, pressing her into the covers and letting himself
melt into every part of her, forgetting everything else in the
world except her, letting the shadows finally burn away until only
they existed together in the darkness.

Soon they were both tangled in
the sheets and panting breathlessly as they moved and writhed back
and forth. Once, she screamed his name, when she was on top of him,
hands in her hair and head thrown back. The noise from downstairs
drowned out the sounds of their own commotion, and by the time they
finally collapsed into a deep sleep, the fire had long burned out,
exhausted and sated.

Farden’s dream was made of
darkness. He could feel the heat of the day failing all around him,
feel the hot wind dying on the horizon as it chased after the
receding sun. But it was dark, impenetrable, like black hands had
covered his eyes and stolen away every scrap of light. He was
standing, he could feel the ground under his bare feet. He moved
his toes and felt sand crunch between them. Hot sand. Farden looked
to where he felt was up, and blinked.

Ever so slowly, as if the stars
were forming for the first time, pinpricks of light began to
puncture the blackness above him like knives through fabric. He
could hear their rumbling from his place on the ground as they
burned and throbbed and shook themselves into being. Farden
couldn’t tear his eyes away. One by one the stars appeared, and the
mage lifted a finger to count them and to trace their familiar
shapes in the sky. A ribbon of light began to sparkle above him,
like a milky river across the vastness, and with it he could hear
the voices of countless people, yelling and moaning and crying,
whimpering, plotting, convoluted whispers of ten thousand times ten
thousand. The shapes moved, and the sounds of battle clashed
against the shadows. The old gods galloped across the skies as they
shouted and twirled. Yet more stars grew, and then suddenly, as
quickly as it had started, the sky froze, the chaos halted, and
earth and sky fell from the havoc. Farden heard something shuffle
nearby, and he spun around. Nothing there but the thick darkness.
Impenetrable. The something circled him, scratched, sniffed, yowled
at the night sky. The stars cast no light, illuminated nothing. The
little thing kept circling the mage, and Farden followed it with
his ears and waved his unseen hands around him.

There’s more
to this than first appears
said an all too familiar
voice.

‘What do you want from me?’
mumbled Farden.

Whoever they
are, they’re not who you think. That’s how they got me
came
the reply in his head.

‘What is this place?’ asked the
mage. The voice paused, as did the scratching.
It’s where you want to be Farden, not I. And something here
feels wrong, different, ruined.

‘Show yourself!’ shouted
Farden, whirling around. From the corner of his eye he saw a shape
move in the sky, the shape of a man holding a bow, with a sword at
his hip. Wild dogs followed in his wake. With a mighty heave he
leapt across the sky, and swept a third of the stars with him, and
then pulled the string of his bow to his cheek. Farden felt
paralysed, cornered. He looked for somewhere to run but saw only
darkness and the hunter. He loosed his arrow, and his stars began
to fall. Gold, silver, purple, and blinding white they fell,
ripping the sky like torn skin, bruising the mountains with fire.
The noise was deafening.

This was how it all started,
mage, when the stars fell, the giants of old.

‘This doesn’t make any sense.
Why do you keep bringing me here? If you want to tell me something
then just tell me and stop all this nonsense!’ Farden yelled. He
tried to run but he could feel his feet melting into the hot sand
around him.

Be careful Farden. Something
stirs in Emaneska tonight.

‘Who are you? Show me your
face!’

I’m just like you, which is all
the more reason to be careful.

‘I told you, I’m nothing like
you! Leave me alone!’

Not this time. It’s only just
beginning. Just promise me you’ll stay alive.

The stars buried themselves in
the ground around him, and in the flashes and explosions of light
Farden could see a man, with a cat, and a thing with wings. ‘SHOW
ME!’ bellowed the mage as a flaming rock struck his hand. He felt
his skin sizzling in the place his arm used to be.

Keep an eye on the weather
Farden.

“
The rumours
of a fierce ravenous vampyre in our forest are completely
ridiculous! Why would such a beast settle in our quiet countryside,
and hunt such kind people? These goings-on are just plain and
simple accidents, nasty trips and falls, or perhaps a rogue wild
dog!

“
Pardon me?
No, I don’t know anything about the bite-marks. Now if you’ll
excuse me...”

The Duke of Leath speaking to
the townspeople after alleged “vampyre sightings” some years
ago

The wind was bitingly cold,
tearing at the black cloak of the figure standing in the darkness
on the shore like the teeth of a thousand rats, invisible and
hungry. It was a moonless night, and the clouds were spinning and
twirling across the seething sky, trying to find calm after the
storm earlier that day. The jagged rocks of the beach were slippery
and wreathed in tangled seaweed that had been ripped apart by the
waves and left to lie like dead soldiers on the shoreline. The sea
crashed nosily on the rocks behind the man, and he could just about
catch the shouts of the people in the small wooden boat furiously
paddling against the surging waves. They were loud fools, and they
would wake up the whole mountain if they weren’t careful. The huge
face of the fortress of Hjaussfen towered above him. The black
granite cliffs were almost invisible against the dark sky, but a
few yellow torches glittered from a handful of windows, betraying
the citadel. To the quiet man standing alone on the beach, the
weather was perfect. He smirked, a wolf’s smile.

The wind howled, and the figure
trudged forward, thick travelling boots crunching the grit and
scraping on the wet slate. Knives dangled at his belt.

In the darker shadows of the
cliff face a Siren stood guard, spear held firmly and low by his
side. He cleared his throat and coughed, blinking and peering into
the darkness. Standing near to the mountain afforded a little
shelter, but the cold still crept inside his cloak and stole his
warmth. His red eyes watched the clouds racing overhead, trying to
find a star in the dark sky.

Suddenly a slim hand slipped
over his mouth and pulled him backwards. A sharp pain pierced his
back, and a thin silver blade slid out from his chest. The soldier
looked with amazement at the knife protruding from his leather
tunic. There was a crunching sound as the blade was pulled out, a
scrape of bone and armour. Blood gathered and bubbled in his
throat. The pain started to spread, but darkness was quickly
gathering at the corners of his scarlet eyes and by the time he hit
the ground he was dead.

The figure wiped his long knife
on the body of the Siren and sheathed it slowly. He bent to grab
the man’s legs and hauled the body into the shadows.

On top of the cliffs, at the
top of a winding staircase, was a little door cut into the rock. A
lone soldier stood in the doorway, shivering in the cold and
stamping his feet to try and keep warm. Someone had taken his cloak
from his cupboard, and he had only his leather armour to keep him
warm. The butt of his spear tapped on the ground as he shivered. He
thought about going inside and stealing a blanket from one of the
other guards, but the sergeant probably wouldn’t have taken too
kindly to that, so he decided against it. A stone shifted somewhere
on the little path to his right, just at the top of the stairs, and
it made a little clattering noise as it fell. The Siren blinked
against the cold and tried to focus his watering eyes on the
stairs. He couldn’t hear anything except the wind, so he huddled
deeper against the door frame and tried to feel the warmth of the
barracks inside. He could almost imagine the warmth of the beds
inside. He closed his eyes and shivered.

Another noise reached his keen
ears over the howling of the wind, the sound of boots on stone. The
guard peered around the corner of the little door to see a tall
stranger, hooded and cloaked, carrying a spear low at his side. The
guard shuffled forward, hands still deep in his small pockets, and
opened his mouth to hail the stranger.

Like a shadowy blur the man
dropped the spear and darted forward, and the Siren panicked. While
he struggled to get his hands free of his pockets, the stranger’s
hands shimmered with blue light. A yell caught in his throat as a
bolt of lightning slammed into his chest and threw him backwards
with a crack of thunder. The door splintered into a thousand pieces
under him and the air was driven from his lungs. The man felt his
ribs pierce his lungs as he collided with the wall at the back of
the dark room. The shouts and cries of the others seemed distant
and muffled from the floor.

The figure filled the doorway
and a flash of light flew from his fingers, blinding the three
scaly men falling out of their beds and scrabbling for their
weapons. Yells filled the little room.

A flaming knife pierced the
darkness and flew across the room, dispatching a bewildered Siren
crawling across the floor. A gurgling cry and a crash of furniture
rang out. The hooded stranger held his hands open facing upwards
and sparks began to gather and spin above his hands. The ball grew
and crackled, spitting light and fire as it spun inches from his
crooked fingers. With a grunt the man tensed and hurled the huge
bolt into the darkness, where it exploded with a massive crash
against the back of another guard. The man was catapulted sideways
and his forehead collided with the other soldier’s face as he tried
to free a sword from its scabbard. There was a sickening crunch and
the two men slumped to the floor limply.

The smell of burning flesh and
smouldering wood choked the room with a thick smoke, and all was
silent apart from the hoarse breathing of the wounded men. The dark
stranger went to each one, plunging a knife into the defenceless
soldiers to make sure they sounded no alarm. He sheathed his blade
and left the room quickly, scurrying out of another low door into a
gloomy corridor.

Deep in the mountain a
flickering torch fizzled out, pinched between quiet fingers. The
spreading shadows hid the cloaked figure as he stepped lightly on
the flagstones, creeping further and higher into the palace.

Around a corner, another guard
stood quietly and attentively at his post. The man pressed a palm
flat against the wall, and the stones shivered and rippled outward
with a low rumble. Just as the guard turned his head at the noise,
the first wave reached him and the wall burst apart behind him with
a detonation of bricks and stone. The man was knocked flat and
while he tried to rise the figure dashed forward and ended his life
with a vicious slash across the throat. Dark blood pooled on the
white floor, but the stranger was already gone, running headlong
down the hallway.

Soon a bell rang somewhere deep
in the mountain, and the corridors came alive with soldiers like
swarming ants. They crowded the lower levels, but the stairs slowed
them and the murderer was far ahead, high up at the top of the
palace.

The man stood in front of a
tall set of iron doors and looked up at the high arch of the door
frame. He strode forward and pushed on the metal, making the door
creak in protest. Slowly it swung open and the man slipped into the
cavernous hall without a sound. He dodged furtively from pillar to
pillar and made his way to the statue of the winged god at the end
of the hall, and the little stone table sitting near it. The
tearbook and a flock of papers sat on it, barely illuminated by the
flickering candles around the shrine.

The hooded figure dashed to the
table and seized the tearbook. He slipped it into a satchel under
his cloak and stuffed the parchment beside it, making sure he got
all of it. The sound of bells and horns shook the fortress around
him. It was time to leave.

The man reached inside his
tunic and brought forth a golden object that glittered brightly
with the light from the candles. He gripped it in both hands and
headed for the door. The bright corridor was full of the sounds of
armour and clanging weapons, and just as he emerged from the dark
hall a group of soldiers came around a corner and spotted him. The
man wasted no time by lingering and broke into a fast run. The men
shouted and bellowed and gave chase but the man had already reached
the end of the corridor and had disappeared. Other soldiers joined
them, spurred by the shouts and the yells, and soon the entire
palace was racing after the hooded intruder, following the trail of
dead bodies left on staircases and in doorways and slumped against
walls. The Sirens wanted blood, and the stranger knew that, so he
darted between rooms and corridors, leading the pursuers a merry
chase towards the outside of the mountain. The palace was a warren,
and he was slowly losing them.

No sooner had he thought this
did he turn a corner to find a swarm of armoured soldiers, teeth
bared, scales flushed, and blocking the corridor with their tall
shields. The man skidded to a halt and stared at the hungry Sirens.
They growled and tensed, waving their spears and blades at the
intruder threateningly. The corridor was the only way out of this
section on the palace, but the man had one more card to play. He
looked at the gold disk in his hand, and lifted it closer to his
face, lips mumbling the incantation etched into the shiny surface.
Footsteps clattered behind him and a soldier rushed at him
brandishing a short sword. The man ducked and spun, flinging out
the hand that held the disk and catching the Siren in the face with
the hard metal edge. The soldier let out a cry and threw his hands
up to his nose while his feet flew out from under him. The others
charged to their friend’s aid, yelling war cries and screaming for
revenge.